


Chasing Cars

by jj_minerva



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story set after the events of “Discovered in a Graveyard”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Cars

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

He realised everything was different the moment Bodie started driving. Until then he’d been able to fool himself that nothing had changed, that they would go on just as they had before. But the stark realisation that he’d been hiding from himself hit Ray Doyle with the full force of yet another bullet in his chest. Bodie started the car, checked the mirrors, flicked on his indicator, checked the mirrors again and slowly eased out into the passing traffic. No over-revving of the engine as he worked his way through first and into second gear, no screeching tyres or burning rubber, just a gentle easing of the clutch and steady acceleration. Third gear and the silver Capri was humming along as he slipped it into fourth. Bodie checked his mirrors again, indicated to change lanes and actually looked over his shoulder this time. Text book driving.

As he stared out the window, aware of the deafening silence in the car, Doyle wondered if this was what John Finlay, one of the B Squad agents had been talking about when he told them about his irrational fear and over cautious actions driving his newborn baby son home from the maternity hospital. But Doyle was not an infant and Bodie was not his father and the exaggerated care that his friend was taking as he followed the flow of traffic was so out of character for Bodie that Doyle wanted to scream - I’m not an invalid – but that was exactly what he was.

Whilst recuperating in the hospital he’d had plenty of opportunity to worry over his recovery and the one constant that had kept him hopeful was Bodie. Bodie – who’d come by same as ever; laughing, teasing, flirting with the nurses. Bodie – who never once gave any indication that things were other than as they had always been. Even his jokes were still off colour and inappropriate, like the story he’d told about a time in Africa when a man had been brought into the mercs camp bleeding from a spear wound, chest and back.

“Now Klaus our Doc, well, he’d been a doctor but was deregistered for touching up his patients, well Klaus took one look at this Kaffir and shook his head. He couldn’t understand how he’d been speared right through and was still standing upright, walking and talking. Even had the bloody spear in his hand – brought it in to show ‘im. Course one of the boys had been there and seen what had happened and told us all the real story and we were trying hard not to laugh.”

Doyle, who was flat on his back, hooked up to machines and tubes and drips with holes much the same both front and back could not see anything humorous about the poor man’s situation.

“So there’s Klaus, fingers stuck in first one wound and then the other and he finally gets it – it wasn’t just one wound right through – it was two, one front and one back. The bloke had been speared twice, first in the back – and the bloody git had turned around and they’d got him in the front as well. Not bad like…he’d pulled the spear out himself, but he must have been a tough old bastard to stand there like that. Klaus was just about pissing himself.”

Yes, it was typical of Bodie to not even consider that Doyle might not see the funny side of the story at that moment. But that same blasé attitude had been reassuring in a way. If Bodie could joke around and act normal, then everything had to be all right.

It was an axiom that was sorely tested over the following weeks, as Doyle lay in the hospital. He’d had plenty of visitors when he was out of the woods and they were finally allowed in. Lads from the Squad, girl friends past and present, but as days turned into weeks their numbers dwindled. People were busy and a hospital bedside is not always the most cheerful place to spend your time. Not that Doyle really minded. He dreaded the half hidden looks of shock or pity, particularly from the women, but also from the other lads; they more that any, knew how hard a task Doyle had ahead. Rehabilitation was not a word to be uttered lightly.

But through it all, Bodie had been the one shining light. He’d never faltered in his unspoken conviction that all would be well. He’d come by every day, at least once and often twice, to sit and talk about the latest happenings in CI5 or the daily news. From sports scores to scoring with birds, Bodie chattered on, never once looking at Doyle with anything other that his usual wry grin. It was comforting during the long, dark, painful hours at night when the hospital was quiet as a morgue and memories and fears chased each other around in his head, to know that come the next day, Bodie would be back as sure as the sun would rise.

“You all right?” Bodie’s clipped question shook Doyle from his reverie. He looked across at his partner whose hands were clenched on the steering wheel, his scarred knuckles straining white.

“Yeah, fine.” Doyle looked away again wishing for the easy banter he had taken for granted while they drove around chasing cars and hunting fugitives. He missed the teasing conversations, the semi flirting that they both indulged in, always trying to out do one another and gain the upper hand. “Wish I was driving.”

A soft exhalation of breath, an almost laugh from Bodie. “Be while before you can do that again, Sunshine. Doc said so.”

The doctor had said so, but it didn’t make sense to Doyle’s way of thinking. He felt fine other than the constant itchy pain that he’d become almost immune to. He tired easily, but how taxing could driving be? He’d been doing it for years and it had become almost second nature to him. He could drive across London on auto-pilot and not even think about where he was going or what he was doing. Not like Bodie was doing now. His partner was acting as if he was taking a driving test.

“Almost there.” Bodie said, giving the indicator another flick, checking mirrors and over the shoulder again. He even changed down to second to go around a corner.

“Thank God,” Doyle muttered to himself, impatient for the trip to be over. Of course there was another challenge to face at the end of the drive – his flat. Cowley, ever conscious of his precious budget, had not seen fit to move him. He didn’t mind, in a way he saw it as a test of character. It would be a bit like the first time he’d come off his bike. He’d been bloodied and bruised but he’d got back up and climbed on and started the thing up again and ridden away as if nothing had happened. You had to – you couldn’t go through life jumping at shadows of things that had knocked you about. That wasn’t living.

Bodie’d had a hand in teaching him that too. Although he was never short of stories concerning his days as a merc, they were mostly light hearted and trivial. He rarely spoke of the darker things he’d seen or done. But once or twice, on those rare occasions when Bodie opened up, Doyle had been shaken to his core by what Bodie had revealed. Atrocities suffered in a Congo prison, murder, rape and mutilation masquerading as war, the agonies in Northern Ireland. Bodie had experienced or seen it all. Doyle understood Bodie’s prejudices; they were rooted in experience. Such things would break a lesser man. But Doyle had seen Bodie put even those behind him after Cowley’s dressing down when by rights a knife in the back should have only added fuel to the fire of hatred.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Bodie had said to him once and Doyle believed it.

So here they were at his flat at last and Bodie was fussing with bags and locks and doors, all the while shepherding Doyle like a faithful collie. He wondered where the wolf had gone.

Doyle paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. The furniture had been rearranged and there was a large mat covering the spot where he had fallen. Understandable, blood was hard to remove. He looked at Bodie who shrugged. “Thought you’d like a change,” he said, indicating the room at large. “I can put it all back if you want.”

“No, it’s good like this. Thanks.”

The place was spotless too, everything neat and in its place. Doyle wandered into his bedroom and resisted the urge to lift the bedspread and check the corners of the sheets. Where had Bodie found the time to do all of this, for surely it was his handy-work? The military precision of the folded towels told their own story.

“Sit down while I make a cuppa tea. I’ll get your gear put away after.”

Doyle followed directions, sinking into his familiar couch, propping his feet up on his coffee table. It wasn’t hard; the flat felt like a different place and the memories of what had happened were already softening with the passing of time. Kate Ross had told him to expect flashbacks, irrational fears, disorientation, but she was always a doomsayer and Doyle took little notice of her. Her words were purely theoretical and he didn’t need her advice. He only had to look at Bodie to know that he would be all right.

Bodie arrived with the tea and settled down in a nearby chair.

“When are you due back at work?” Doyle asked. It was early afternoon and Doyle supposed Bodie had picked him up in his lunch break.

“About two weeks, mate.” Bodie sipped his tea.

“Two weeks? Are you on suspension?”

Bodie snorted. “No! Taking holidays aren’t I.”

“Holidays?” Doyle put his cup down with a clatter. “Cowley gave you holidays? How’d you manage that?”

Bodie grinned. “Told him if he didn’t approve them I’d resign.”

Doyle’s heart fell. He hadn’t expected Bodie to be here every day, but it would have been nice for him to be nearby so they could do a few things together. Still, if anyone deserved a holiday it was Bodie. He’d put in more than his fair share of time at the hospital and it was understandable that he’d want some time away.

“So what have you got planned?” Doyle asked, trying not to let his disappointment bleed through into his voice. “Taking a bird off somewhere?”

“No you daft bugger.” Bodie laughed. “I’m going to look after you, of course.”

“I don’t need looking after, mate!” Doyle sat up, on the defensive before he even realised it. He wanted the old Bodie back, not this new one who cleaned his flat and moved his furniture and drove carefully.

“Sure you do, Doyle. You can’t drive, you can barely walk a block. It would cost you a fortune in cabs and I don’t even want to think about you chasing after some bus and then standing because there were no seats left. Carrying your groceries or laundry bags or…”

“All right,” Doyle interrupted, his anger subsiding quickly when he saw that Bodie had a valid point. “But it’s just till I’m back on my feet. A week at the most, Bodie. I’ll be fine by then.”

“Yeah sunshine. Just a week,” Bodie smiled and finished his tea.

Doyle shook his head. It was impossible to stay mad a Bodie.

“Thanks mate. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Yeah, well, had plenty of time on my hands, didn’t I. No-one to go to the pub with, no-one to watch the telly with or go on double dates. It all got a bit boring.”

“That why you cleaned the place?” Doyle asked trying to hide his smile.

“Nah mate. This place was a breeding ground for bacteria. I did it for your health.”

Doyle threw a cushion at him.

“Keep that up and you won’t get your dinner cooked,” Bodie said, collecting their tea cups and wandering back to the kitchen.

“You planning on cooking then?” Doyle asked. Would wonders never cease?

“Might be. You planning on eating? Fancy anything particular?”

And just like that Doyle knew what he wanted. “Yeah, tea with toast and marmalade.”

“What? I don’t think that was on the diet sheet.”

“Please Bodie, it’s just that me Mum used to give it to us as a special treat when we were sick. You know, with the measles, or mumps. She even had this special little china cup and plate she’d serve it on. Didn’t your Mum do stuff like that when you were little?”

Bodie had come back in and was sitting across from Doyle once more, absently drying his hands on a tea towel. He glanced away and shook his head. “Nah, she wasn’t into special china. Wouldn’t have lasted long in our house, anyway. Never knew when some drunken bastard was going to start throwing things around.”

“Sorry mate.” It was all Doyle could think to say. Bodie rarely spoke of his childhood either. The man’s past was like a big black hole.

“Don’t be. It was her choice. She never could settle for one man.” Bodie gave a bitter laugh. “That’s how I came by so many names – William Andrew Phillip – she knew one of them had fathered me, just not which one. Guess she hoped by naming me after them all, one of them would claim me.” Bodie stood up, tea towel twisted into a tight wad. “Wishful thinking. They were all bastards anyway.” He paused in the doorway of the kitchen. “Toast and marmalade? Don’t suppose you have any marmalade, do you Doyle? Don’t recall seeing any when I was cleaning the cupboards up.”

“No. I don’t usually eat it. Don’t worry about it Bodie. It was just a fancy.”

“Nah mate. Tea and toast it is. I’ll pop down the shop and buy some.” Bodie frowned, dark blue eyes concerned. “You be all right alone for a while?”

“Course I will be, you daft…” He was going to say bastard, but after Bodie’s little revelation perhaps it was not the best choice of words. “Bugger,” he finally settled for, hoping Bodie hadn’t noticed the missed beat. If he did, he hid it well, wriggling his eyes brow and turning it into a joke.

“Sweetheart, you promised you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

Perhaps that was not the best choice of words either, for that name was no joke as Doyle had discovered during a late night drinking session when Bodie was once again telling outrageous tales of his time with the mercs. This one involved a monkey that had stolen their clothes while Bodie and his partner had been getting down and dirty beside a waterhole. It was a momentary slip of the tongue, a ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ and Bodie had blushed bright red. Doyle had blushed too, watching the flush spread down Bodie’s neck heating his white skin. That’s what Bodie would look like in the heat of passion, Doyle thought idly; Bodie, with his pale skin hot and sweaty and panting. He’d pushed the vision away and put the errant thoughts down to way too much alcohol and Bodie’s ribald story telling.

“Don’t worry mate,” Doyle had said gently. “Didn’t hear that.” He’d smiled and Bodie had smiled and they’d poured another drink and forgotten all about it.

At least Doyle had tried to forget, but sometimes he’d find himself thinking back to that night and wishing he’d had the courage to ask Bodie more.

Bodie was saying something and Doyle dragged his attention back to the present. “You want anything else while I’m out?” Bodie was asking. “I stocked up on milk and bread and stuff. Just never thought you’d want marmalade.”

“No thanks. I can go out tomorrow if I think of anything.” Bodie stared at him but didn’t say anything. “We can go out tomorrow… you can drive. Is that better?”

Bodie smiled. “Won’t be long. I’ll set the locks.”

It was funny how one small word could bring it all back to him. Locks. If he had set the locks like he should have then none of this would have happened. No… that was fatalistic thinking. She could have waited for him outside or…hell… he could have been hit by a bus on the way home….or stung by a bee or, with the way they both drove, died in a car wrapped around a lamp post.

Doyle got up and walked to the window, studiously avoiding walking on the new mat. Later, he told himself, he would lift it up and look underneath. He’d make himself do it, just like Bodie had made himself spare Krivas although that man was responsible for the death of his girl. He hadn’t killed Mayli either which had come as a great relief to Doyle, while at the same time already knowing that Bodie could never kill a woman in cold blood. Sentimental fool had even held the girl’s hand as she bled to death in the ambulance. So much for the tough exterior; there was still a fragile humanity lurking underneath that armour. In many ways, Doyle envied Bodie that innocence. Doyle often felt he himself was becoming too cynical and he looked to Bodie to find that childlike essence again.

Yes, Bodie often did the unexpected and now here he was running off to the shop to buy marmalade just because Doyle fancied it. It was almost laughable.

But it was another emotion that pricked at Doyle until his eyes filled with tears. In all the world there was no other person who cared enough about him to do what Bodie was doing right now. No-one who’d run out for jam, or rearrange his furniture. No-one to cook him dinner or make him laugh. Whilst in hospital it was Bodie who had taken home his washing and brought it back clean and fresh and even ironed. Bodie had brought him magazines and toothpaste, shampoo and slippers, even a bedpan one time when there was an emergency in the next room and the nurses were flat out.

Doyle sat down on the couch and let the tears slide down his face. He was alone except for Bodie.

“Ray? Are you all right? What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

And Bodie was there beside him, holding him, raising his face, brushing away the tears.

“I’m all right Bodie,” Doyle brushed the hands away, gently, for he didn’t want Bodie to think him ungrateful. “I was just thinking, you know, about everything.”

“It’s to be expected.” Bodie said, settling down beside him on the couch, shoulder to shoulder. “Kate Ross said you’d have times like this…get all….emotional. She said to let you get it out, just to let it go, you know.”

“You talked with Ross? About me?” Doyle felt a bubble of laughter erupt from somewhere deep within. Bodie hated talking to Kate Ross.

“Well, yeah. Figured I should since I was going to look after….I mean, take care…ah…I mean drive you around when you got out. Thought I ought to know what to expect.”

“Oh Bodie.” Doyle laughed. It felt good, the first real laugh he’d had in along time.

“It’s not bleeding funny Doyle. You know what she’s like. Made me feel a right idiot, she did.”

‘I’m sorry, Bodie.” Doyle said drying his eyes again but they were good tears this time. “I just wish I could have been a fly in the wall.”

“She would have swatted you.” Bodie declared and laughed, digging into the bag sitting discarded at their feet. “Here, I got you something.” He pulled out a paper wrapped parcel and placed it in Doyle’s hands. “Careful with it.”

As the tissue paper peeled away, Doyle could not believe his eyes. ‘Bunnykins? You got me Bunnykins?” He looked in wonder at Bodie. “How did you know me Mum had Bunnykins?”

Bodie shrugged. “Just luck I guess. I used to love looking at it when I was a kid and my Gran would take me shopping at Christmas. Always thought it would be nice to have one of those little cups.”

The tears threatened Doyle’s eyes again. “We’ll share it then. Whoever’s hurt gets to use it.”

They both laughed and then sat in silence for a few minutes just enjoying the feeling of being together again until Bodie switched on the telly for Doyle to watch while he busied himself unpacking the hospital bag.

The evening drew in and Bodie closed the curtains, made the tea and toast and they settled down to watch a movie. It was almost like old times. No alcohol of course, thanks to the painkillers and antibiotics but they didn’t need it as they once did. Doyle realised that he had learnt more about Bodie today than he had in the years he had known him and it had all been achieved without a drop of alcohol. Perhaps that was the real test of friendship; that you didn’t have to hide anything, you could let it all out, warts and all. He’d learned a lot about himself too, if he was totally honest. He wasn’t quite so self sufficient as he had once imagined. Perhaps he needed a little bit of Bodie’s help after all.

It was only nine when Doyle admitted he was too tired to stay awake. Bodie helped him to bed, fussing a little about leaving a light on and promising he wouldn’t make a habit of sleeping on the couch – it was just for tonight to make sure Doyle was all right.

His bed felt like a cloud after the one in the hospital. Sheets freshly laundered thanks to Bodie, the faint glow of the bathroom light chasing away any demons that may have lurked. I can do this, Doyle told himself and he knew it was true. With Bodie’s help, I can do this. Again the realisation came flooding back that there’d be no one if Bodie hadn’t taken on this role. Oh, he’d have been cared for, Cowley would have seen to that. Nurses paid out of CI5 funds if they had been required. But there was an ocean of difference between being cared for by someone who was paid to do it and someone who did it out of … friendship? Love? Whatever it was, Doyle was humbled by it. He drifted off to sleep, warm and safe in the knowledge that he was not alone in life.

A noise woke him and he bolted upright, scars pulling at the sudden movement. The sound came again, an anguished sob coming from the lounge room. Bodie.

Doyle climbed out of bed, not stopping to pull on his robe and hurried to where Bodie lay caught in a nightmare. The cry came again, pained and desperate. No words, just sobbing as Bodie struggled with the blanket.

“Bodie, wake up, it’s just a dream.”

Bodie sat up with a gasp, his dark hair plastered with sweat, his tee shirt stuck to his chest. “Nightmare,” he gasped. “Couldn’t wake myself up. Knew it wasn’t real….but couldn’t get out of it.” He looked up sharply at Doyle as if only now realising he was there. “Are you all right?”

“Yes Bodie, I’m all right. Are you?”

Bodie sat back with a great sigh and closed his eyes. “I never have nightmares. Never.”

That much was true – Bodie had said the same to Doyle on several occasions and of all the times they had shared a room, Doyle had never once seen Bodie have a disturbed night. He’d challenged Bodie about it once, after he’d chased his partner across an airfield with a bomb strapped to his body. Doyle’d had his fair share of bad dreams following that escapade, but Bodie had just shaken his head, laughed and said no.

“Haven’t had a bad dream since I was a kid.” Then he’d winked and added, “They all stopped about the same time I started having the other sort.” Doyle had hit him and they tussled around until they both forgot what they had been talking about.

But now, here was Bodie, pale and sweating, having awoken from a self confessed nightmare.

“What was it about Bodie,” Doyle asked, knowing from experience that it was often better to name the demon and exorcise it rather than let it fester in your mind. Often he’d found himself having late night whispered confessions with whichever girlfriend was on hand when he had been shaken awake by some nightmare following a particularly harrowing assignment. It was to be expected in their line of work. The other lads all said so; it was only Bodie who was the odd man out.

Doyle had asked Kate Ross about it once, in a purely hypothetical way. It had been during a compulsory session after the incident with Kathy. She’d asked him if he’d had bad dreams and he’d said yes, one or two, then he asked her a question in turn. “Does everyone have bad dreams, nightmares?”

“Most people,” she had replied. “In a way they are like a release valve. They only become a problem when they don’t stop.”

“But what about the people who don’t have them?”

She was quiet for a moment, studying him in that unnerving way she had. He wondered if she knew he was thinking about Bodie. If she did, she was too professional to let on.

“There are some rare individuals who don’t suffer this way. In most cases they have seen more horror in real life than their subconscious can handle. It shuts down in order to preserve what little bit of sanity they have left.”

“So they just dream happy dreams and don’t have to worry?” To Doyle it sounded like a cop-out and not at all fair.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We all have our deep dark fears. Sooner or later something catches up with them. Something that shakes them so hard it takes over every aspect of their lives, dreams included. It’s only a matter of time.”

Doyle looked at his friend and knew that whatever Bodie’s fear was, it was had finally caught up with him.

“What was it about Bodie,” Doyle asked again, when Bodie did not answer. Slowly the blue eyes opened and fixed on him.

“I dreamed you were shot and bleeding on the floor, right there, in front of me. I couldn’t get to you, couldn’t reach, you were bleeding to death and I couldn’t do a damned thing to help you. I’m sorry.”

Bodie buried his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake, a silent inward suffering unlike anything Doyle had witnessed before.

He put his hand on Bodie’s shoulder, not really knowing how to comfort him but wanting desperately to try. “It’s all right mate. I’m here. No need to be sorry. You saved me.”

“Couldn’t live without you Ray, just couldn’t. I’m sorry, I never meant for you to know.”

And there it was - Bodie’s greatest fear - a life without his partner, Ray Doyle.

“Oh Bodie,” Doyle whispered and laid his forehead on Bodie’s shoulder. He thought of all the things that Bodie had seen in life, the ugly, brutal acts, the death and killing, the abandonment and hurt and wondered that Bodie could still find the capacity to care for someone - care for me - Doyle corrected, so much that he feared the loss so greatly. Bodie, who flittered from bird to bird like a bee around flowers. Stubborn, independent Bodie, who’d been on his own since he was fourteen. Who’d up and moved and changed his whole life every few years. Always running, never setting down roots.

“We’re a right pair aren’t we,” Doyle murmured against the dark head. “We deserve each other, you know that?”

“Yeah mate, don’t know what I’d do without you,” Bodie whispered. “Don’t know what I’d have done if you’d…not made it.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you either Bodie.” Doyle said softly. “I couldn’t imagine sitting here like this with anyone but you. It feels right.”

“It does?” Bodie asked, looking up and wiping his eyes.

“Yeah, it does,” Doyle declared looking him straight in the eye.

Bodie smiled. “You’re not shocked, then, not disgusted, that I …you know…like you like that.”

“Like me? You just like me?” Doyle asked, unable to refrain from teasing. “Gee mate, thought it was more than that.”

Bodie blushed, that same beautiful heat rising in his face that Doyle had witnessed once before. “You know what I mean…”

And Doyle did. He could see it all there in Bodie’s dark eyes; the knowledge that although they were both alone they had each other and together they could do anything. It was more than enough.

Doyle took pity on him. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Love you too mate, or whatever you want to call this.” Because it was more than love, although Doyle could not put a name to it. He didn’t know where they were headed, didn’t really care so long as Bodie was there beside him. That was all that mattered, the rest they’d work out together.

“Come on, I’m tired and you look half dead. There’s enough room in my bed for both of us.”

Bodie hesitated. “Look Ray, I wouldn’t expect anything. Not if you don’t feel comfortable with it all.”

“I bloody well hope not Bodie! I’ve just got out of hospital.” Doyle laughed. Trust Bodie to think of sex. “Let’s just see where this goes, shall we? I think you may have an unfair advantage in that area.”

They walked to the bedroom together, side by side almost like old time, but different now. There was something new here, something fresh and green and growing.

“I’d be happy to give you a few pointers ,Ray,” Bodie said, smug and grinning. “When you’re feeling up to it, of course. I do believe in passing on my considerable talents to the less educated.”

“Considerable talents? Sounds like something to look forward to,” Doyle said as he climbed under the covers.

“Oh you’ll be in for a treat, sunshine,” Bodie replied as they lay down side by side.

“Can’t wait,” Doyle replied with a yawn. He reached out and took Bodie’s hand in his, holding it gently.

“You’ll have to Ray,” Bodie said, lacing their fingers together. “You can’t even drive the car yet!”


End file.
